Love At First Bite
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Dave/Emily - He knew it was love with the first bite he took...ONESHOT


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**Love At First Bite**

"Just try it."

A simple order, true. But in David Rossi's vast experience, that seemingly uncomplicated request had sent him tangoing toward trouble too many times before. And he wasn't in a real big hurry to repeat the event.

Experience was a bitter taskmaster, no matter how pretty the picture looked.

"Dave, go on. Try it."

Again, a sweetly beseeching order aimed in his direction.

Damn.

No, make that a double damn.

Because now a graceful hand had dropped to a shapely cocked hip. And, shit, she was narrowing that attractive eye on him, silently assessing him for what his problem was.

Clearing his throat as he looked carefully at the cannoli in front of him, Dave replied warily, "You do realize that I lost faith in the idiot that coined the phrase 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach' right after my second ex-wife tried to poison me with a tainted tiramisu, right? It's that kind of Betty Crocker propaganda that gets a guy in trouble."

"The food isn't poisoned, Dave. Try it," she ordered again, rolling her eyes at him as those luscious lips pursed and her left foot began to tap impatiently against the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor.

"Yeah, wife number two said that very same thing," Dave reminisced, staring morosely at the Italian treat in front of him. Damn, why did it actually have to look so appetizing? It would have been so much easier to run screaming for the door if it hadn't! "Have I ever mentioned that I spent a week in the hospital? I thought I was going to die. Hell, I prayed for death at a couple of low points," he remarked, lifting the glass plate toward his nose and sniffing the delicacy.

"Repeatedly. Every time I've ever offered to cook, in fact," she replied, glaring at him as he lowered the plate back to the kitchen island between them. "For the love of God, I'm not going to poison you, Rossi! If I wanted you dead, I'd pull my gun and shoot you with it."

"Sweetheart, you scorched the pan boiling water the first time I ever agreed to let you cook," Dave reminded her with a tender smile, shaking his head. "Remember that horrible smell?"

"Not my fault!" she retorted defensively, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared once again in his direction. "You were the one that thought counter sex was a good idea. Is it my fault you decided to distract me?"

His grin widened as he watched her lift her pert nose in the air, a clear sign that her ire was growing. God, she was adorable when righteously pissed. It was almost worth the spat just to watch her expressive face. "You have to understand my...trepidation," he began, wincing as her lips pressed together into a flat line. "Emily, cara, you're a lot of things. Beautiful woman. Talented profiler. A kickass FBI agent. But, sweetheart, you are about the most undomesticated woman on the face of the planet. In no alternate reality do I ever picture you as Susie Homemaker, sitting at home baking me cannoli."

"Will you just take a bite of that damn thing?" Emily ground out, her hands now gripping the granite topped island with a grip that would have made a linebacker for the New York Jets proud. Seeing Dave drop his gaze reluctantly to the pastry, Emily nearly screamed. "Fine! Look," she said, picking up the dessert and taking a vicious bite. Chewing quickly, she swallowed, licking the filling off her lips. "There! Not poisoned. Now will you try it, you idiotic coward?"

Reaching for the half-eaten delicacy she extended toward him, Dave nodded, aware his girlfriend of a almost a year had finally reached her breaking point. It was either eat the pastry or eat her bullet. And, hell, she was definitely a crack shot. "Okay," he said with a crooked smile.

"You know, you really might want to give some serious consideration to the possibility that you might be in some severe need of therapy," she grumbled under her breath as she watched his teeth sink slowly into the crusty exterior of the pastry.

Sinking his teeth into the soft crust, Dave moaned as flavor exploded against his tongue. "Mmmmm," he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he chewed, half convinced he might be in the midst of the Rapture. Only something straight from heaven could taste this delicious...and yet, familiar at the same time. "Good God, that's good," he said after he'd swallowed the first bite.

Lips twitching as she watched him take a second, larger bite, Emily Prentiss arched one eyebrow. "Really?" she drawled, shaking her head slightly as he released another lusty groan. Damn, did he even sound like that when she did that little trick with her tongue, she asked herself curiously.

Cracking one lid, Dave licked his lips. "Tell me the truth, you taken up with an Italian chef on the side and this is your demented way of telling me it's over, isn't it?"

"You nailed me," Emily said with a sweet smile. "Wanna hear the details?" she asked enthusiastically.

Staring at her with eyes that gleamed, Rossi's hand stilled instantly as he reached for a second cannoli. "You'd so better be joking, Prentiss," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, but I'm not. Her name Sophia Bataducci. She a seventy-two year old Sicilian that I met in cooking class. She was the teacher...and me," she said, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest as she batted her eyelashes at him, "her avid student. It's all so very torrid."

Choking on his laughter, Dave stared at the woman in front of him. "You took cooking classes? For me?"

"Not just any classes. Italian cooking classes. And I was a star pupil that managed to score a couple of private lessons with Mrs. B," she bragged proudly.

Dave smiled. "W-why?"

"It's your birthday, Dave. And you, sir, have more money than God. There's nothing out there I can buy you that you can't go out and get yourself...except an authentic homemade Italian meal that you didn't have to cook. Unfortunately," she sighed, "our last case interfered with my master plan and all I had time to do was the cannoli. So, happy birthday," she finished as she grinned.

"You're amazing," Dave laughed, grabbing another cannoli from the plate. "This Mrs. B...she didn't know my mother, did she? Cause I swear, these taste just like ma's. Haven't tasted anything this good since she died," he said around another bite.

"We-ellll," Emily hedged, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "There's sorta a story there."

"A story?" Dave echoed, still chewing. "How did you get ma's recipe? It's a sanctified Rossi family secret," he said after swallowing another bite.

Sighing, Emily perched on the bar stool on her side of the island. "Promise you won't get mad?"

"Oh, God," Dave moaned. "You didn't kill my sister for it, did you? I mean, we're not close, but she is family."

"Nothing so dire," Emily said as she grinned cheekily. "Although, I did call her and ask politely for the recipe."

Propping his chin on his fist as he leaned against the counter, Dave wriggled his eyebrows. "And how did that conversation go, cara?"

"Well, in between the Italian accusation of blasphemy, I was informed that since I wasn't a Rossi by blood, I'd get the recipe from her cold, dead hand. Otherwise, it would require a fight to the death," Emily informed him, her tone as matter of factual as if she was delivering a ballistics report.

"But you didn't let a little thing like a death match stop you, did you, Killer?" Dave grinned widely.

"Of course not," Emily returned sedately, smiling ever so sweetly. "My arsenal is much, much bigger than your sister's is. And I don't mind telling you that I've got a secret weapon," she said, leaning forward to whisper that last piece of information.

"Hmmm...and what, pray tell, is that?" Dave chuckled.

"Not what, Dave. Who," Emily corrected.

"Ahhh," Dave breathed.

"I had Garcia hack her computer to bits," Emily stated ruthlessly. "Found the recipe like that," she said, snapping her fingers together. "You really need to talk to you sister about encrypting her system."

Awed, Dave could only stare at the woman across from him. "So, let me get this straight. You learned to cook edible homemade Italian food on the sly. Stole my late mother's recipe and made me my favorite dessert. All for my birthday?"

"Yep," Emily said with a terse nod.

"And you have no qualms about anything you did?" Dave questioned lightly, reaching his hand out to wipe a spot of cream left on the corner of her mouth.

"For you? Nope," Emily said carelessly, shrugging.

"You're never going to stop surprising me, are you?" he chuckled, slowly circling the counter.

"I wouldn't want you to get bored," Emily replied cheekily as she noted the mischievous glint. "Did I do good?" she asked as his hands wrapped warmly around her waist.

"Cara, if I hadn't have been in love with you already, it would have been love at first bite," Dave grinned, lifting her from the bar stool to the kitchen island. "But, I can think of one more thing I'd like for my birthday if you don't mind," Dave whispered wickedly against her ear.

"Hmmm, I don't know. These were pretty hard work," Emily giggled, gesturing toward the pan of cannoli on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, I promise, this won't require any effort from you at all," Dave promised, easing her backward. "Tell me, Sweetheart, how do you feel about island sex?"

"Oh, I think that can be arranged," Emily mumbled against his mouth.

Too bad that she forgot all about that second pan of cannoli in the oven. Susie Homemaker's place in the annals of history was still very secure.

_**Finis**_

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